


Once, Twice, Thrice

by figjam_fics



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figjam_fics/pseuds/figjam_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally published September 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once, Twice, Thrice

_Once, twice, thrice,_   
_Does that feel right?_   
_No, not quite._

Neil wipes the oil over his bat again, studying it closely. It has to be perfect. If it isn’t perfect he’ll fail tomorrow. Another close look. Had he missed a spot? Just in case, another wipe. One more careful inspection.

He lays his bat down gently on the side. Straight line, presented perfectly. In the same spot on the desk it always rests upon, lying in just the right place.

And now, time to get into bed. Can’t crease the covers, or he’ll have to try again. He thought he had a method figured out last month, but he can’t remember what he did. If he just slides in from that angle, just so…

No, not right, back out of bed. Time to try again, it has to be right, it has to work.

Third time lucky, maybe? He has to try again, just cannot deal with all those stupid creases. Maybe if he stands on the bedside table and goes in feet first, trying to ease his body in…

It feels okay this time, although something else is making him feel uneasy. He remembered leaving the bathroom two hours ago, but suddenly he isn’t sure which way the shampoo is facing. What if Kerry picks up the wrong bottle because the label isn’t facing the right way? What if it damages her hair, her skin…

He slides out of bed again. He has to check, he has to know it’ll be okay the next time she washes her hair.

The shampoo is almost the right way round. Neil can see most of the label from the door but not quite enough of it to satisfy him. They need to buy a different brand. The label on this bottle wraps around too much of it, it’s not possible to see the entire label at once. He makes a mental note to tell Kerry.

He adjusts it. Goes back to the door to check it’s clear.

He adjusts it again. Stands at the door to make sure it’s perfect.

He adjusts it again. It’s alright now, Kerry couldn’t possibly hurt herself.

He walks back into the bedroom and stares at his bat. It doesn’t quite look clean. He picks it up and carefully oils it again before setting it back down. And now to get back into bed.

Time to battle the creases again.

_Once, twice, thrice,_

_Does that feel right?_

_No, not quite._

Who moved his bag? It was on the floor, under the bench. It was aligned perfectly with the wall, closed, neat. He hadn’t left it on the bench; he would never leave it on the bench. Why was it open? Who opened it? He would never have left it like that.

He panics. He’s fearful. Oh God, he has to bat in ten minutes and everything’s in the wrong place. He can’t do this. Someone else has to take his place. Graeme will have to open with someone else, he just can’t bat in this state.

And now someone’s shouting at him to pad up quickly. But, he can’t, someone’s moved his bag. His head is swimming, he feels sick and like he wants to scream and shout bloody murder.

Who moved his bag? Oh, shit, had he made the bed this morning? He has felt wrong all day, like something didn’t go as planned, like he hadn’t done something he should have. Is Kerry okay? He doesn’t remember shutting the bedroom window. What if someone got in? What if someone stole their keys and Kerry wasn’t safe.

His vision feels blurred. No, no, it’s okay, he tries to tell himself as he sinks down onto the bench, staring at his bag. Why is it there? Which stupid idiot moved it? Who was manipulative enough to do it on purpose?

And there are fingers running lightly against his legs and he looks down to see Graeme tightening his pads on him, looking up at him worriedly. Only five minutes and he has to bat. Graeme’s put the right pad on him first. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, it should be his left first. Graeme always puts the right on him first. Neil keeps forgetting to correct him. Why does he always let himself get into this state? Graeme has more important things to worry about.

Graeme’s handing him his box. “Do you really want me to put this in for you?” he grins, and Neil blushes and stands up. His legs feel like jelly, he needs to throw up. Box. He puts it in, adjusts. Helmet, gloves, bat. Why is his bag still on the bench?

Graeme fishes the rest of his stuff out, putting Neil’s gloves on for him, watching him with anxious eyes.  _Stop looking at me like that, I’m not going mad_ , Neil silently begs. So close to breaking down, so likely to just collapse. The bag is in the wrong place, won’t somebody please move it back?

He’s walking down the stairs now, behind Graeme. Graeme’s always behind him. Why has Graeme gone first? This isn’t right, this doesn’t feel normal.

He’s on the field now. His bag is still in the wrong place!

He makes a century.

His bag must always be on the bench. He must always go after Graeme.

_Once, twice, thrice,_

_Does that feel right?_

_No, not quite._

Why is Graeme there? He’s sitting on Neil’s bed. This is his room, go away. Graeme wants to know why he was late for training and Neil doesn’t know what to say. He was making his bed. His bed felt wrong, he had to make it. How can he tell his captain this? He’s so ashamed, it feels like he committed a crime.

Graeme looks hurt, let down. “I thought I could rely on you,” he says and Neil barely whispers “you can.”

His captain looks unsure, anxious, worried. He’s looking around, assessing, contemplating.  _Stop analysing me_ , Neil wishes.  _And please make this go away._

“I need help,” Neil says, and the words are out of his mouth before he can make them stop. _I don’t need help. I have to check the bathroom… please go, so I can check the bathroom._

Graeme nods. He knows. How could he possibly know?

Strong arms are wrapping around him before Neil even acknowledges his own tears. Is this his breakdown? He feels more numb than he thought he would.

He always expected the meltdown would come. He never thought it would feel like this. Like he’s in a box. Like it’s been pushed in around him. His chest feels tight, painful.

He has to check the bathroom…

Did he say that aloud? Graeme is telling him the bathroom is fine as it is, so Neil supposes he must have done. His mind feels so clogged up, so full, running at such a pace his breathing cannot keep up.

Graeme’s taking undressing him, telling him he needs to rest. It’s late, Neil will feel better in the morning.

_No, no, please don’t go._

Graeme is pulling back the covers.

_I can’t get into that. Look at the crease!_

He gets into bed, his whole body tired, lazy, he feels like he’s watching himself getting into bed rather than actually doing it.

Graeme is getting in beside him and Neil turns towards his comforting hands and warmth.

He breathes in. Once. Twice. Thrice. Wipes his eyes. Time to relax. Let himself be soothed.

_Once, twice, thrice,_

_Can this ever feel right?_

He just cries and cries, though eventually the energy he has subsides.

Graeme’s still there when he wakes up. His eyes are closed, though he’s not sleeping. His arms instinctively wrap tighter around Neil, and Neil breathes in deeply.

He glances at his bat, laid on the desk and knows.

This has to stop.

_Once, twice, thrice,_

_He has to make this right._


End file.
